


Someone Like You

by ironfyxen



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Eventual Smut, F/F, Mild Smut, Widowtracer and Pharmercy and Spiderbyte are referenced but don't actually appear, leading to
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-11
Updated: 2018-01-27
Packaged: 2018-11-12 23:05:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11171970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ironfyxen/pseuds/ironfyxen
Summary: Fareeha runs a well-known tattoo shop, and her last appointment of the day is unexpectedly rerouted by a mysterious--and beautiful--stranger.





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> i'm thinking this will be the first in a series of three short chapters, so we'll see how this goes! ^_^

The shop was quiet now, but the long day had seen a steady rotation of customers. Some of them were new to this whole tattooing thing, and had to be carefully coached through the process. Others were regulars, and Fareeha had had to search for a square centimeter of bare skin on which to squeeze another flower or crossbones. The customer who had just left, a gigantic man with a topknot and a pig snout tattooed across his belly, was one of these addicts, and Fareeha had had to get up close and personal for half an hour until she located a suitable location to add a small image of a scruffy rat with bombs for eyes. At least he’d left a fair tip.

Standing in the tiny bathroom, Fareeha splashed her face with cool water. Only one customer to go, and then she’d be winding her way through the dusky East End streets, on her way home at last. The other artists had fewer bookings today and had long since left, Zarya muttering something about a face that needed breaking. Fareeha loved their company, but she relished having the place to herself for once. Normally the venerable brick building housing Eye of Horus Tattoo was literally buzzing, as needles whirred and customers spilled their life stories.

Toweling off, Fareeha gazed into the spotted mirror. Behind her, the walls of the bathroom were tattooed themselves, with decades of “call me”s and “make love, not war”s. Some of the inscriptions, barely visible under the scribbled patina, dated to Ana’s day. Fareeha’s mother had built the shop up from nothing, and she had owned it until very recently. Fareeha herself was the proprietor now, although Ana occasionally popped in, taking up her needles again by special request. Fareeha gave herself a small smile in the mirror, tracing the lines of her own tattoo below her right eye. She’d done it herself late one night, standing in this same spot. Looking into the glass after she’d finished, she’d seen Ana peering back at her—in more ways than one.

Fareeha headed back into her office, glancing up at the clock as she went. 6:45. He’d be here by 7—Gerald Lacroix? _Gerard_ , Fareeha checked herself, glancing at the appointment book, left open on her messy desk. _Got to get the name right, can’t start off on the wrong foot like that._ Perching on the edge of her desk, she shuffled through a stack of sketches. She was frowning over a design when the bell above the door jingled. The rush of noise from the street spiked, then fell quiet again. Setting the sheaf aside, Fareeha strode to the front of the shop.

The light streaming through the broad front windows was fading quickly, and Fareeha flicked the lights on. “Sorry to leave you in the dark like that. Time flies when you’re--” she stopped short. In place of the man she’d been expecting—Fareeha had been picturing a decidedly average Frenchman, brown hair, brown beard, middling height—was a woman. Tall, raven-haired, and porcelain-pale, she flicked her golden eyes up from the portfolio she’d been paging through when Fareeha entered the room.

Fareeha cleared her throat. “I’m sorry, but we’re only open for appointments right now. If you’d like to set something up, better do it quick. I’ve got a guy coming in at--”

“No, you don’t.” The woman closed the binder with a thud. Her voice was honey-thick, matching the color of her eyes. But there was something else there, too, beneath the deep French accent, that made Fareeha’s inner soldier snap to attention.

“My husband had an appointment here at 7, but he will be unable to keep it. I thought I would step in in his place, since I have something I’ve wanted done for a while. If that’s all right with you?”

Fareeha frowned. Sure, wives came in with their husbands for couple’s tattoos all the time, but this was a new one. Normally, she had her staff follow a tough cancellation policy, but hey, she was already here. At the end of the day, an arm’s an arm. Leaning against the wall behind the counter, Fareeha set her hairbeads jingling with a shrug.

“Fine by me. Where’s Geral—Gerard?”

“Gone.” The word dropped from the stranger’s lips like a last drop of poisoned wine. Were it anybody else, Fareeha’s hackles would have risen. But as the woman’s curtain of inky black hair caught the rays of the dying sun, Fareeha felt something else rising in her gut instead.

She pulled herself back to earth with a thud. “Gone” was enough of an explanation. Maybe the guy had ditched her? Or died? In any case, it was none of her business. Fareeha had lost enough people herself, and she wouldn’t pry into this woman’s life. Besides—she thought of her own tattoo—everyone has different ways of dealing with a loss.

“Getting something to remember him by?” she cocked her head slightly.

“Yes. Well—something like that.” For the first time, the stranger smiled. Fareeha found herself smiling too.

“Ok, well, so long as it’s nothing too crazy. If you just want to follow me around back here, Mrs.—Ms? Lacroix?”

“Amelie.” The name was pure merlot this time, without a trace of poison. Amelie shouldered her bag—expensive black leather, to match her heels—and slipped into the workshop, just behind Fareeha.

The shop was cluttered as always, and for the first time, Fareeha was kicking herself. She fit in just fine here, with her ripped muscle t’s and torn men’s jeans. But this Amelie, with her high white shorts, sleeveless black button-up, and stilettos, looked about as at home here as Fareeha would feel on a runway. Or maybe not—Fareeha caught a glint in Amelie’s eye as she took in her surroundings, steelier than the pipes running across the ceiling. In any case, Fareeha’s face reddened as Amelie swung her long legs like a gymnast around the nearest chair, straddling it backwards and propping her chin on slender fingers.

“Well then, shall we begin?” The smile was back, teasing. Fareeha’s stomach flip-flopped again. Normally she’d return a smile with a scowl, quickly putting pushy or condescending customers back in line. But now…she felt herself pulled back to her army days, jumping to obey when her commanding officer so much as nodded in her direction. Fareeha pulled a sketchbook towards her.

“What did you have in mind? It said in the appointment note that Gerard said something about just a few words or something…were you thinking the same thing, or…?” She took the pencil from behind her ear.

“Mmm…much the same. Different words, though, of course.” Amelie leaned forward, sliding the sketchbook and pencil from Fareeha’s grasp.  After a very, very slight hesitation, she scrawled a few words on the page, tucked the pencil along the sketchbook’s bindings, and flipped it around for Fareeha’s approval.

Fareeha—who had been watching Amelie’s fingers as they guided the pencil across the paper--shook herself and read the words. She’d learned French during her years in the Egyptian army, but that didn’t make their meaning much clearer.

“ _Araignée du soir_ … _cauchemar.”_ Fareeha tapped the page with her pencil. “Something your husband said?”

“He said it, yes. Or something like it. But so did everybody. It’s a proverb, _cherie_.” Amelie had glanced down at the words once more, but looked up at Fareeha now through long eyelashes, as dark as her hair.

Fareeha’s cheeks glowed once more. Cherie? _Is she—how long has this guy been “gone”?_ Lena usually didn’t write down when appointments were made, and Fareeha had built up enough of a reputation on this side of London that she was often booked out three or four years at a time. Maybe that was it. Gerard had been out of the picture for a couple years, and rather than cancel the appointment, Amelie had waited until now to memorialize him. _And to flirt with the tattoo artist…_

Fareeha met Amelie’s golden gaze, then flicked her own dark eyes back to the page. “I’ll…take your word for it. Anyway, that sounds like what Gerard had in mind, so we don’t have to schedule another appointment. Should I do them like you have them written here, or—“

Amelie waved a slender hand, as if swatting away a fly. “You’re the artist here, aren’t you? Just make it bold. I could never have these things, tattoos or piercings, with my ballet company, so I’d like to make the most of my freedom now.”

_So she was a dancer…_ Fareeha forced herself not to look at those long, toned legs splayed out on either side of the chair. “Where do you want them? Across the shoulder?”

“Here”. Amelie showed both forearms. “I had thought to get both on one arm, but I think I would like them seen from every angle. I’m not worried about the pain.”

Fareeha had, somehow, figured as much. “So, no font preferences or anything? Spacing? Color?”

“Black. Otherwise, I leave myself in your capable hands, _madame_.”

The blush was back. Fareeha ignored the heat, running down her long mental list of typographies and alignments. She was stoic by nature, but prided herself on her ability to capture her customers’ personalities through her art. Only last week had a 19-year-old come in with vague ideas about “war-paint, but, like, cute”, and left beaming, a pair of hot pink tick-marks on both dimpled cheeks. So for Amelie… _A ballerina? Classic. She probably loves red wine and sidewalk cafés. But there’s something else there, too. Cold marble floors, or maybe the creeping feeling you’d get from standing in an empty cathedral, late at night, as the incense fades and the candles die…_

Making up her mind, Fareeha wheeled her equipment around and straddled her own chair. Normally she’d refuse to use a font like this. _Fake-edgy_ , she’d told a tall man last month—Reyes, Riojas?—when he came in requesting the word “die” down his right forearm. But for the woman seated expectantly before her now, it just seemed to fit.

Fareeha turned to ready her needle. “Ok, right arm first. Just lay it on there, and we’ll get going.”

“Flying without a net, are you, _cherie_? No sketches this time?” Amelie flicked her eyes towards the walls, covered in scraps of paper and scribbled designs.

“Not this time, no.” Normally, Fareeha would absolutely have done at least a quick sketch, but something about Amelie made her bold. She nodded to the opposite wall, where Ana had insisted on hanging a portrait of Fareeha in full military dress. “Don’t worry, I’ve done my time on the shooting range. I never miss.”

“Well, I am grateful to be on the receiving end of your line of fire.” Amelie extended one pale forearm.

Wordlessly, Fareeha reached out to take her wrist, turning the arm this way and that. Amelie’s skin was surprisingly cool to the touch and flawlessly smooth, starkly contrasted against Fareeha’s own calloused fingers. Soon, though, it would be blossoming red and hot as the words bloomed across its surface. Fareeha swallowed hard. _Get it together_ …

“Ok, let’s get this going.” Settling on the forearm’s upper edge, Fareeha flicked the needle to life. Its relentless buzz broke the silence as Fareeha bent low to Amelie’s skin.

_A_...the first letter came to life beneath Fareeha’s fingers, crowned with the spikes and embellishments of a bold Gothic font. Fareeha glanced up, ignoring how her breath caught when she met Amelie’s golden stare.

“Ok so far?” Fareeha gently wiped the fresh marks clean. Amelie laughed.

“I was a ballerina, _cherie_. I’m no stranger to a little pain. These heels are slippers compared to what my feet have been in.”

“Just had to check.” Fareeha bent back to her work with a grin. _R_ … _A…_

They fell into silence again, as the needle hummed and the glow of the streetlights pierced through the shop’s leaded windows. Fareeha finished the first phrase, then leaned back, stretching.

“What you think?” She was satisfied, but the customer came first. Fareeha crossed the room to flick on another light, then turned back to Amelie.

Instead of glancing at her newly-tattooed forearm, the woman’s eyes were raking Fareeha’s body, still well-muscled from her soldier days. “Those shoulders, _cherie_.” It was almost a purr. “You should’ve joined my company. I would have loved to have been held by you, instead of those imbecilic male dancers they insisted on hiring.”

_Held by you…_ Fareeha had never been a dancer, but suddenly she was gripped by the mad urge to don a leotard and take to the stage. Sinking back down to her chair, she seized an already-spotless tool and rubbed it vigorously, covering the sensations flitting across her mind.

“Was Gerard a dancer too?” Even without looking up, Fareeha could sense Amelie’s sudden stiffness. She was not, however, prepared for the strange expression crossing the other woman’s elegant face.

“No, no he was not. But at first, he came to every performance…brought me roses.” Amelie smiled softly. “So many roses. But that was a long time ago. Things change.” The smile was brittle now.

Fareeha’s hand was halfway extended, intending to draw Amelie’s other arm towards her to begin the second tattoo. Hearing Amelie’s sudden coolness, she paused in midair, heart pounding. To her own slight surprise, she settled her calloused hand on top of Amelie’s.

“I’m sorry.” Fareeha mumbled. “You must miss him.”

After a moment, Amelie spoke. “Not so much as I did. Like I said, it was a long time ago. And besides, we had been growing apart for years before…before it ended. We wanted…different things.” Another moment’s pause, and Amelie entwined her long fingers in Fareeha’s.   

Fareeha was sure Amelie could hear her heart hammering in the quiet of the shop. The other woman’s almond-shaped amber eyes were blazing now.

Fareeha didn’t really have to ask, but the question slipped out anyway. “What…what did you want?” she stammered, red again.

“Someone like you.”

Fareeha stared. Amelie’s smile widened, but for the first time, Fareeha caught a glimmer of uncertainty in the other woman’s eyes. Abruptly, Fareeha made her decision.

“My apologies, was that too---!” Amelie’s voice, low and fast, was silenced as Fareeha leaned across the equipment cart, capturing Amelie’s red lips in a swift kiss. Blood racing, she held herself there in a cloud of heat and perfume, acutely aware of Amelie’s sudden intake of breath.

After one long moment, they broke apart. Fareeha’s cheeks flushed deeper, and she was surprised—and more than slightly gratified—to see a definite blush creeping across Amelie’s high cheekbones.

“Someone like me?” Fareeha’s own eyes were blazing now, glinting obsidian. “For something like that?”

Amelie met her gaze, full lips parted slightly. “Like that…and more.” She whispered, softly. “That is, if you…?”

Fareeha kissed her again, kicking the tray of equipment unceremoniously to the side. Slamming her chair forward with a bang, she closed the distance between their bodies. This time it was Amelie’s long fingers— _so fucking long_ , though Fareeha with a shiver—that caressed Fareeha’s face, tangling themselves in her hair and setting the golden beads jangling.

This kiss was longer, hungrier, more powerful. After several long, tantalizing moments, they broke apart, breathing heavily. Amelie kept her hands on either side of Fareeha’s face, heedless of the fresh ink glowing jet black and blood red along her arm.

“Take me home”, Amelie murmured. It was a command, and the smile flickering across her lips as she spoke told Fareeha she was used to being obeyed. Fareeha was mentally down the block and up her apartment stairs before a thought occurred to her. Amelie had been toying with her all night, and Fareeha was nothing if not competitive…

Fareeha slid her chair back and hooked the equipment cart into place with her foot. Taking up her needle again, she returned Amelie’s smile. “Not so fast, _madame_. We still have work to do. Other arm, please.” Turning the needle on once more, Fareeha turned back to see Amelie’s eyebrows arched, biting her smudged lip. The sight was so attractive that Fareeha nearly abandoned the game right there. More to herself than to Amelie, she murmured, “…and then…”

Amelie’s expression was knowing now, and she extending her arm with an exaggerated sigh. “You will owe me for this, _cherie_. I do not like to be made to wait.”

Returning Amelie’s pout with a smirk, Fareeha traced the outline of a bold “c”. It was all she could do to keep her fingers steady, but even with her thoughts racing, she still had the mind of an artist and the hands of a soldier. Amelie would carry this design forever, and it would be a tragedy to mar such flawless skin with sloppy ink. Fareeha had formed the “a” and the “u” and was moving on the second “c” when Amelie started whispering.

“As soon as I walked into your shop, _cherie_ , I wanted you. So tall…and your eyes…and those hands, _cherie_. Have they always been rough like this? But so delicate…”

Fareeha bit her lip, concentrating hard. _H…e…m…_

“I want to make you feel good _._ Would you like that? I know a few things…the other dancers and I, we didn’t spend all our time backstage checking hair and makeup, after all…”

_A…_

“Let me take care of you, _cherie_ …” Amelie’s voice was little more than breath. “Fareeha…”

Finishing the final letter deftly, Fareeha switched off her equipment and tugged at the roll of plastic wrap on the counter nearby. She wrapped both of Amelie’s arms securely, then swung her legs out of her chair. Amelie turned her face upward expectantly, without even a glance at her completed tattoos. Fareeha bent to kiss her once more, then slid one arm beneath Amelie’s thighs, still splayed on either side of the chair. Effortlessly, she swung Amelie up into her arms, her blood roaring in answer to Amelie’s moan of approval. Crossing the room in a few broad steps, she set Amelie down only once they reached the front door.

They crossed the threshold together, Fareeha fumbling with her keys. Sliding her arm up Fareeha’s back, Amelie stood on tiptoes to whisper into her ear.

“My night is yours, Fareeha. Make me yours as well.”

Fareeha drew her breath in sharply. Thrusting her keyring into her pocket, she turned into Amelie’s body, stealing a kiss under the cover of darkness and Amelie’s shimmering hair.

“Let’s go,” she whispered, and they set off into the night.


	2. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fareeha crafts another work of art.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the wait guys! here's my first attempt at writing smut, I hope you enjoy~

They made their way quickly down the dark streets, the _click-click_ of Amelie’s heels echoing through the canyon of buildings. The sound matched the beating of Fareeha’s heart, roaring in her ears as Amelie’s hand found hers once more. She breathed a silent prayer that she’d found a flat so close to the shop. If she lived near Lena in Primrose Hill, or with Ana, over by Edgware Road, she’d’ve just locked the shop doors and swept the clutter off the top of her desk—sketches, appointment book, checks, and all. But as it was, they were almost there—the last building in the row, right on the corner. Fareeha nodded at the weathered brick.

“Here we are!” She brought them to a stop just at the base of the stairs. Before she could pull her keys from her pocket, Amelie had them dangling from her long fingers in front of Fareeha’s eyes.

“Allow me, _cherie_!” With a devilish grin, Amelie bounded up the stairs with her dancer’s legs, unlocking the door easily and opening it for Fareeha with a mock bow.

Fareeha stared a moment in astonishment, then mounted the steps in one powerful leap. Charging through the doorway, she seized Amelie’s hand and dragged her into the hall after her. Amelie gave a shriek of laughter. It was infectious, and Fareeha soon joined in. In no time at all, they had dashed up the three flights of stairs to Fareeha’s room, giggling like schoolgirls and utterly heedless of the neighbors. Amelie still had the keys; Fareeha made sure she didn’t need to ask for the room number by pinning her against the door for another lingering kiss. That embrace, too, broke down into laughter, and as Fareeha felt Amelie smiling against her lips, she fumbled for the doorknob. Still locked together, they tumbled into the dark flat.

For once, Fareeha was grateful that London housing prices had restricted her to a tiny studio. From the doorway, it was only a few steps to the bed, standing a couple inches off the floor on old wooden pallets and strewn with worn army blankets. A king-sized mattress was really too large for such a small space, but after years of lumpy barracks bunks, Fareeha figured she deserved to stretch out a bit. She turned to flick on the light, only to have Amelie stay her hand.

“No need, is there?” Amelie purred, backing Fareeha towards the bed until she fell heavily atop the blankets. From the chair by the window, Sakhmet sprang silently to the floor and streaked towards the bathroom to hide among the towels.

Ignoring the cat, Amelie stood at the foot of the bed, one hand on her hip. Eyebrows raised, she took in Fareeha’s whole body, stretched out before her on the bed. Fareeha grinned lazily, hiding her roaring impatience.

“And I haven’t even undressed yet.”

“Oh hush, _cherie_. That is about to change.” Without another word, she dropped onto Fareeha’s hips, straddling her lithe body as she reached for Fareeha’s shirt.

Fareeha raised herself slightly to help her along, knowing full well that Amelie could feel her abs tighten beneath her. She was rewarded by Amelie’s slight gasp, then a renewed shower of kisses as the shirt came free. Pulling Amelie onto all fours, Fareeha kicked her jeans loose, bare now but for her typical black sports bra and boy shorts. With a dexterity born of years of military training, she twisted herself around onto her knees, flipping Amelie down onto the bed.

Now Amelie was the one smiling from the sheets. Reaching up to Fareeha’s hips, she ran one long finger along the cutlines disappearing into her shorts. “And here I thought I’d be rewarding you for your fine work this evening.”

“Oh, you’ll get your chance.” Fareeha bent to kiss her once more, her fingers fumbling with the tiny buttons of Amelie’s blouse. One long moment and the shirt fell loose, followed swiftly by Amelie’s high shorts. As she drew the shorts down Amelie’s legs, Fareeha briefly considered removing her impossibly high heels. Once glance back at Amelie’s flushed form—and the dove-gray lace lingerie that Amelie was swiftly removing—made up her mind.

She just couldn’t take it anymore. Without sparing another thought for clothing or formalities, Fareeha bent down to Amelie’s breasts, stretching her body full length against Amelie’s. She took her right nipple between her lips and was rewarded with a low moan from Amelie. Glancing up with a question in her eyes, she met Amelie’s gaze—or would have, had Amelie’s eyes not fluttered shut, her back arching.

“Yes, _cherie_ , yes—whatever you want. But do it quickly, oh God.” Amelie gasped, knotting her fingers tightly into Fareeha’s hair.

Fareeha lowered her head once more, smiling around Amelie’s stiffening nipples. She ran one hand down the curve of Amelie’s waist before sliding her arm behind her back. Concentrating now on her left breast, she gave Amelie a gentle nip, grinding down on her right leg as she did so. Amelie must have felt the heat—reaching up, she yanked off Fareeha’s sports bra, eyes still closed.

Almost completely exposed now, Fareeha leaned back, running her hands through her hair with a jingle of golden beads. Amelie’s eyes opened at the sudden pause, then widened at the sight of Fareeha’s broad bare shoulders, perfectly balancing the swell of her breasts. Wordlessly, she pulled Fareeha down to her again. This kiss was much longer than the others, and Fareeha, her mind thick with desire, felt something in it—longing, but also a loneliness, a vulnerability. Fareeha’s heart twisted.

Breaking the kiss, she touched her forehead to Amelie’s, her voice low and breathless. “Perfect girl.”

Amelie smiled again, then leaned up to bite at Fareeha’s ear. “Oh, I know. Now make me feel like one.”

Tangling her fingers into Amelie’s hair, Fareeha’s right hand found the gentle dip of Amelie’s hips, her thumb tracing the darkness between her legs. Amelie was hot, almost unbearably so. Deftly, Fareeha circled the wetness within, feeling Amelie stiffen beneath her. Gently at first, then more and more urgently, Fareeha caressed her, as Amelie’s breathing broke into ragged gasps.

“Good, _cherie_ , right th—ah!” Amelie twitched, biting her perfect lip. “God, I—ah!—Fareeha, give me— _more_ —before I----!”

Fareeha never was one to disobey a direct order. She kept up the motion with her thumb, sliding one finger deeper down, teasing.

“Mm…is this what you mean?” She slid another finger in. Amelie’s reply was wordless, but her meaning was clear enough. Fareeha increased the pace and the pressure bit by bit. A third finger, then a fourth.

She paused once more, running her thumb along the inside of Amelie’s thigh. Amelie’s eyes fluttered open, betraying just a hint of impatience.

“Fareeha, _please_. I want all—of you—“

She slid her thumb in, giving Amelie a heartbeat to adjust to the feeling of fullness. And then her whole fist was curling and uncurling, deep within Amelie’s body. Amelie writhed beneath her, drawing up her dancer’s legs, still high-heeled, until finally—

“Far _eeha_! I- _mhnn!”_ Amelie arched her back elegantly, her lacquered nails scoring long, blushing welts down Fareeha’s shoulders. Fareeha, almost giddy with desire and delight, kept up the motion with her fingers, stroking, stroking— _stroking_ —until Amelie twisted away from her at last, cheeks blossoming like spring roses.

Fareeha sat back, fighting a losing battle to catch her breath. Amelie was gasping too, one arm across her flushed forehead. Her eyes met Fareeha’s, and she grinned.

“I’m glad to see tattooing isn’t the only art you’re good at, _cherie_. Not that I doubted you for a second.”

Fareeha leaned down to kiss her. “What can I say? I love working with my hands.”

Amelie’s laugh broke out from beneath the kiss, and she gave Fareeha a playful shove. “Well then, let me pay you back for your hard work…” She pulled Fareeha down onto the bed alongside her, propping her head up on one arm with only the briefest wince.

Fareeha caught Amelie’s grimace. “Not so fast. That was thanks enough for me. And besides, those tattoos are barely a few hours old. Let’s give your arms a rest.”

Amelie arched a brow. “Who said anything about arms, _cherie_?” Without missing a beat, she slid herself between Fareeha’s legs, drawing her shorts away from her hips. Casting the garment aside, she bent her head down to the space between her thighs.

Fareeha’s nerves exploded. Blood roaring in her ears, she shuddered under every caress of Amelie’s tongue as she traced the wetness within her. For several long moments, the only sound was Fareeha’s ragged breath and the creak of the pallets beneath the bed; her only thought was Amelie, Amelie and her sky-high heels, Amelie’s amber eyes.

She opened her own eyes, just in time to see Amelie look up at her from below. The sight of her, languidly draped between her thighs, mischief and desire plain on her beautiful face, was almost enough to send Fareeha over the edge. She groaned, need crackling across the surface of her skin like lightening. She could feel Amelie’s smile as she bent down to her again. God Almighty.

The sounds of the never-ending city echoed in the streets outside, not quite covering the high-pitched gasps trickling from the third-floor corner window.

 

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The show must go on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have some fluff! Thanks for reading ^_^

Fareeha awoke to the kettle singing in the kitchen and welts stinging on her back. _Sakhmet_ , she thought, her eyes still shut. The little black cat spooked easily, often leaving long scratch marks down Fareeha’s skin when a clanging pipe or passing car startled her from her sleep.

The kettle reached a fever pitch, then shut itself off with a click. Cups clinked. Ana had a key to the flat, and cheerfully abused the privilege by showing up unannounced at all hours of the day or night, to make tea or share tattoo sketches. Normally, Fareeha didn't mind. But it was too damn early for this. It had taken her ages to fall asleep last night, after…

She sat bolt upright, abundantly aware of where the scratches on her back had actually come from. Her eyes fell on the base of her bed, where a tangle of lingerie, high heels, and dude jeans left last night's activities in plain sight. With a spasm of horror, she turned to face her mother’s knowing grin, a few feet away across the tiny studio flat…

...and found herself looking instead into Amelie's golden eyes. Standing at the counter, clad only in Fareeha's t-shirt, Amelie allowed a smile to creep across her face.

“Surprised to see me, _cherie_? Did you think I was the type to dine and dash?” The grin was wicked now.

Fareeha blushed, heat swooping down to rest between her thighs. Covering her face with her hands in mock consternation, she fell back against the pillows. “I thought you were my mother.”

Amelie pursed her lips, feigning thoughtfulness. “Well, you didn’t say you were into roleplaying, but I suppose…”

“Oh god!” Fareeha groaned again, clamping her palms even more tightly across her eyes. When she surfaced, Amelie was seated beside her, holding out a chipped mug of steaming tea. Fareeha took the cup, grinning sheepishly.

“Scone?” offered Amelie, nodding towards a plate heaped high on the counter, within Fareeha's easy reach. “I would have preferred croissants, but the shop hadn't put them out yet. Don't worry, I put shorts on when I went out,” she added, catching Fareeha's panicked glance at her legs, now bare beneath Fareeha's t-shirt.

With a sigh of relief, Fareeha reached for a scone. “Good idea. Otherwise all the Tesco people would've had heart attacks.” The scone was sweet with chocolate and curiously warm. Amelie must have slipped them into the oven.

“Mm, these are perfect. You didn't have to do all this, running to the shop so early.”

Amelie smiled. “I couldn't wake you, you just looked so... exhausted. And besides, it's the least I could do, to thank you for last night.” She broke off a piece of Fareeha's scone. “Did the army teach you all those tricks?”

“Not exactly... although I guess I got a lot of practice while away on missions.” Fareeha grinned a little wistfully, thinking of hurried meetings in Cairo, Berlin, Tokyo, Zurich...and a certain platinum-blonde doctor whose work, in the end, just couldn't wait.

Amelie purred. “Well, practice has made perfect. I hope you’ll excuse my...rustiness. It's been a while for me.” She helped herself to another scone. “My last girlfriend used to live around here, actually. I recognized the corner shop.”

Fareeha was intrigued. “Oh, really? What was her name? We all seem to know each other around here.” She suspected Amelie would catch her meaning.

“Lena. Lena Oxton. Short, spiky brown hair, never sat still. She--”

Fareeha's chuckle cut her off. “Oh, I know Lena. She works in the shop with me. Damn good tattoo artist too, when she first showed us her sketches Mum thought she'd traced them. She still calls her 'Tracer’.”

Amelie was laughing too. “Oh god, even in a city like this gay girls are all caught in the same web. Wait, did you also…?”

“Naw. I could never keep pace with someone like that. And anyway, she had a girlfriend when I met her. They just got married, actually.” Fareeha nodded towards the fridge, where a “save the date” card held up by magnets showed Lena with her arms wrapped around a beaming woman with flowing red hair.

Amelie cooed. “Little Lena! All settled down...oh, what did she wear at the wedding? I could never seen her in a gown…”

“Hehe, true. She wore a kick-ass white suit, look--” Fareeha reached for her phone. Amelie stretched out languorously next to her, exclaiming delightedly over the wedding photos. She especially like the navy blue suit Fareeha had worn, how it accentuated her broad shoulders and the gold beads in her hair. When all the weddings photos had been dissected, Amelie kept scrolling, exclaiming over this or that shared acquaintance. It turned out Amelie knew Angela-- “she's quite the fan of ballet,” said Amelie haughtily, and just a touch naughtily--and Fareeha had met another of Amelie's old flames, a Mexican computer scientist with a wicked undercut and even wickeder smile.

All too soon, Fareeha’s eyes drifted towards the time at the top of her screen, and she groaned. “I’ve got an appointment in an hour. Dude wants to add to his dragon tattoo. He heard about glow-in-the-dark inks somewhere and he wants this thing lit up.” She sat up, touseling her hair.

Amelie looked up at her. “Well then, I won't keep you.” Her eyes hardened for a moment, and she reached up to draw Fareeha's lips to hers. “Although I so dearly want to.”

Fareeha groaned into the kiss, her body consumed with heat once more. Maybe Shimada wouldn't mind waiting. It promised to be another long session, what was a half-hour delay? Hell, he could probably tattoo his own damn self at this p--

Amelie bit Fareeha's lower lip, then pushed her back onto the bed. Standing gracefully, she slipped out of Fareeha's t-shirt and began to dress. “I said I wouldn't keep you, _cherie_.”

Amelie’s expression was warm once more, which did little to calm Fareeha's pounding heart. She reached for the t-shirt Amelie had just cast off, suddenly awkward.

She was no stranger to one-night stands. Her military service had taught her a certain detachedness, and when the other woman seemed fine with ending their connection first thing the next morning, Fareeha was usually fine with it too. But sometimes--like Angela-- it was different. _And this_ , thought Fareeha, gut twisting as she watched Amelie bend to secure her stilettos-- _might be one of those times._

She dressed more slowly than usual, tugging on her jeans and fiddling with her hair beads. _Should I--no. She just lost her husband, I shouldn't push it._ She scooped out some food for Sakhmet, nearly knocking over the container. _But maybe she needs someone right now. Nothing too serious. Just a... friend?_ The scratches on her shoulder stung. _I could just--_

And suddenly Amelie was behind her, her breath warm on Fareeha's neck. “Well then, I'll be off, cherie...thank you again.” She kissed her on the cheek. “Try not to think about me too much while your hands are all over this guy today…” Amelie giggled as Fareeha's face crumpled in distaste. She slipped over to the door, scritching Sakhmet on the head as she passed.

Finally, Fareeha's tongue obeyed her brain. “Wait, before you go, can I get--uh, do you want--”

Amelie turned, halfway out the door. Wordlessly, she smiled, winked--and was gone.

Fareeha stared. _Was that it? She didn't even--oh god, I was such a blithering idiot._ Dropping down into her chair, she reluctantly pulled a boot towards her. _Like a fucking teenager. Nice job, Fareeha. Can I get your phone number? And then can we maybe hold hands? If that isn't too--_

Her phone buzzed. She snatched it off the bed, still berating herself. Grabbing her keys, she yanked open the door, then glanced down at the screen.

_I put my number in your phone while you were sleeping, then texted myself from your phone. I hope you don't mind the intrusion…_

The phone buzzed again.

_Anyway, I have a solo show in Paris next week, on the 28th @ 20:30, at the theatre on XX street. I'm reserving you a front row seat. And afterwards we can have a drink and critique my performance? xx_

For a moment, Fareeha was dumbstruck. And then she was whooping down the hallway, taking the stairs three at a time. She burst out of the front door and into the sunshine, blissfully unaware of the gaggle of passing American tourists that jumped at her sudden appearance.

The walk to work took no time at all. Yanking open the shop door, she was immediately confronted by Shimada, who was, curiously, already shirtless.

“There you are. I'm ready to--” he halted, blinking at the open palm Fareeha had thrust at his face.

“Give me like, one second,” muttered Fareeha, grinning like a fool at the phone in her other hand. _I’ll be there_ , she wrote to Amelie. _Couldn't miss a chance to see someone like you.  
_


End file.
